


Cutting Losses

by Kerkerian



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Friendship, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, John's POV, Missing scene-sort of, Season/Series 04 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-14
Updated: 2017-01-14
Packaged: 2018-09-17 11:40:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9321995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerkerian/pseuds/Kerkerian
Summary: Set a few hours after the arrest of Culverton Smith: John doesn't immediately go home after taking the car back to Mrs Hudson.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock.

 

Impassive faces. Headphones, thumbs wiping across interactive screens, the scent of chewing gum. A rather worn handbag which must have been expensive, once. A pair of violently green sneakers next to a pair of brogues.

John takes all of this in without really registering it. It's uncomfortably warm on the tube, and he suddenly wishes for fresh air. Maybe it's just because he's tired, but it occurs to him how it doesn't seem feasible that they are travelling underneath the city. It doesn't seem feasible that all these people who seem so dull down here are living normal lives up there. They are blissfully oblivious to anything outside their normalcy, and while John doesn't usually envy them, he now feels a pang of something he can't define. A yearning of sorts. It's not the pain he's been carrying within ever since Mary died, or the guilt about not being there for Rosie as much as he should. It's something else, the wish to leave all the drama behind for just a moment and be content with a life he never wanted, something well-regulated with predictable days and peaceful nights. No nightmares, no what-ifs, no threats.

He snorts; of course he doesn't want that, not really. Despite everything that happened, he still wants to be exactly where he is now, if not as a widower. And sans the present day, perhaps. He briefly closes his eyes, only now noticing that they're burning with fatigue. The fact that he saved Sherlock's life today seems irrelevant considering that he beat him up only a few hours prior to that. He feels ashamed about it and a bit appalled too, and he caught himself hiding his bruised knuckles when he handed over Mrs Hudson's car keys just now. Saving someone doesn't matter if you're the one who's put their life in danger in the first place, does it? If you're the reason why they needed to be saved at all. And if you physically hurt them only hours before. John blinks; his eyes are moist all of a sudden. He knows he won't find any sleep, despite his exhaustion; he's been like this for weeks, it seems that he's awake all the time, every day, every night. Haunted by the loss and his fury. Made inhuman by it.

 _'You know what you should do,'_ Mary says, and John nods. No point in going home anyway; it doesn't feel right. Instead, he gets out at the next stop and leaves the station, raising his arm for a cab even before he's through the door.

 

Sherlock sleeps. He looks awful and far too insubstantial, but his vitals are stable. He's surprisingly strong, despite everything he's put his body through recently. John's gaze is drawn to the wounds he himself inflicted on his friend and feels fresh shame welling up in him. He doesn't remember it all too clearly, but he knows he kicked Sherlock in the ribs as well, hard. With what might count as belated shock, he fumbles for the nearest chair and sinks down on it, knees weak all of a sudden. He felt lost and untethered ever since Mary's death, but this is worse. This is turning into someone dangerous.

He swallows as he looks at Sherlock; he'd never in a million years have thought that he'd one day be ready to actually kill him. He would have if no one had stopped him, a thought which is chilling to the bone.

“God, Sherlock,“ he murmurs, shaking. He knows that Sherlock didn't kill Mary, of course he does. Yet his friend was the perfect outlet for the shock and anger and grief, and John desperately wanted to make himself believe that it was Sherlock's fault, that he was the one who should have protected Mary and failed. It was easier to blame someone else, to project his own guilt on his friend. He's been wondering if Sherlock would have found out about E.; he probably would have. John tries to tell himself that that wasn't one of the reasons he kept Sherlock out, even though he hasn't answered any of E.'s texts after Mary's death. He simply wasn't ready to deal with any of it.

“And now look at us.” John's voice is hoarse. “Look at us.” The notion that he actually came here earlier to say goodbye makes him sick. How stupid he's been.How arrogant.

 _'But you're alive',_   Mary points out. ' _Both of you_.'

Though she's right, John shakes his head. They've come a long way, but they aren't out of the woods yet. He's sick and tired of mourning, too, but he can't stop it; it comes in waves. It's not made easier by the gnawing feeling that he has no idea how they will proceed. How Sherlock and he will ever get back to what counted as normal for a brief but brilliant time, before Moriarty turned up. There it is again, the pang. John seems to mostly consist of pain and regret these days, he feels worn thin. Shakily, he gets to his feet, coming to stand next to the bed and gripping the railing with one hand. Sherlock looks alien with his scruffy beard, too... inacurate. It doesn't do his usual sharpness justice but helps to fool people by emphasizing the wrong portrait Sherlock has been building these past weeks. But then, it's been more than just a portrait, and even John didn't see what Sherlock was doing when he of all people should have realized what was really going on.

 _'You refused to get in touch, remember?'_   Mary says. ' _You didn't want Sherlock in your life anymore, even though you knew that that's less than ideal for the both of you.'_

 _I know_ , John thinks. _It's shit_. It was actually worse than the two years of Sherlock's alleged death. During that time, John grieved for his friend. During the past weeks however, John mainly felt anger and betrayal, aware that it was wrong but unable to change it. Now that he is standing by Sherlock's bed, he realizes how much he actually missed him. The detective has become a part of his life no matter what, and shutting him out was like losing a limb.

Silently, John remains at Sherlock's side for a few minutes longer, making a decision. He is going to go home and take something that will help him sleep. Tomorrow, he will pick up Rosie. He will delete E.'s number and make another appointment with his therapist. He will see to it that Sherlock will be okay. That Rosie and he will be okay. And once they're back on track, though he doesn't yet know how exactly they'll do it, he'll persuade Mrs Hudson to let him borrow her car once more because it's fun and they could make a day out of it.

One step at a time, he tells himself, taking a deep breath. With a still trembling hand, he reaches out and takes Sherlock's into his for a moment; he will have to apologize to his friend. Maybe they're even now, considering how much hardship they managed to put each other through ever since the day Sherlock stepped off that roof.

 _'Not that it should matter,'_ Mary says, a smile on her face. ' _And wasn't there a lot of affection as well?'_

John gently squeezes Sherlock's hand before letting go and turning towards the door; again, she's right. _Love_ , he thinks, _really is the best and the worst that can happen to a person_.

 _'It strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room_ _ _,'__ _Mary quips. '_ _Or maybe I should say_ woman, _seeing as I'm the one who's dead_. _ _'__ _._

“Shut up,” John mutters, but for the first time since the aquarium there's the smallest of smiles on his face as he closes the door behind him.

Sherlock slowly opens his eyes, blinking: he can still feel John's touch on his skin. And even though his face hurts, he too smiles.

 

The End

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not a Native Speaker, therefore I apologize for any mistakes.
> 
> The quote 'It strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room' is from Shakespeare, As You Like It.
> 
> I'm fully prepared to be bamboozled yet again by the last episode, and it will probably turn out to be resolved entirely different than anticipated, as usual; some people have even theorized that none of what we've seen after Season 3 Episode 3 was real and all of what happened was a figment of Sherlock's imagination.  
> However they'll proceed: I can't wait!!!
> 
> #stopyulinforever  
> #wecanstopyulin


End file.
